It's a Love Story, Baby Say Yes
by synonymsforempathy
Summary: hera karpusi is an ordinary gurl attending a high skwl and wants to find tru luv. can she find it thru her annoying childhood friend sadik OR can she find it in that deliciously sexy japanese dude who makes her heart flutter! find out in  this fic!
1. Baby

**Babies**

I wonder what my purpose here is, in life. As I walk through the hallways of my school, engage in meaningless conversations with the people who I call my friends, and strive to live- ah, that word. _Live._ Why must I live? What right do I have to live? I, who have killed so many creatures to get this far in life- what right do I have? Why am I entitled to all this?

From the chicken and her babies I have killed to eat my breakfast, to the teacher's life who I am squandering by taking naps in class, to the grass and bugs I am stepping on as I walk the shortcut to my house- I am essentially a murderer.

Perhaps my purpose in life if to murder. That doesn't sound too bad. I mean, there's a lot of murderers going around people, ripping out the victim's intestines and biting of chunks of their buttocks. At least the kind of murdering I do is the kind that's used to help a life live.

Which brings me again to the question of _why_ I am entitled to such a privilege.

But whatever. I'll think about it some other time. Right now, I just want to sleep. Wait- first, I kind of want to tell you who I am.

They say that it's bad form to forwardly introduce yourself. It's much better to somehow insinuate your identity throughout your narrative. I don't care. I don't want to waste countless paragraphs for the reader to know who I am.

My name is Hera Karpusi. I am sixteen years old, and I am the kind of girl who you don't care about because I am not prone to sporadic fits of irrational anger- thus making me very uninteresting. That's okay if you don't care about me. I don't care about you either. But then again, what if I really am caring about you by thinking about you? Are you thinking about me too? I suppose you are. You should, because you're reading my narrative. Yet at the same time, you could really be searching for hints of romance, the kind shared by two sexually frustrated boys cooped up in a prison of homophobic disgust and years of friendship.

I wonder if I could provide with that sort of thing. I probably can't participate in it myself, although I wouldn't mind if I did. Sex is sex, isn't it? Doesn't matter who you're doing it with, just as long as you're enjoying yourself. Or repopulating the world.

I wonder if there's ever going to be the two-baby-per-family-unit rule imposed here in this supposedly free country, at the rate our birth population's going. I wouldn't mind. After all, babies are scary, greedy survivalists. They don't have an ounce of love or compassion in them. I'm not saying that they're not innocent. In fact, it's their innocence that turns them into scary, greedy survivalists.

Innocence shields all from love. The moment you understand the deep core of love, you are _un-_innocent.

But don't believe me. That's only what I hold to be true. Perhaps you believe otherwise. That's okay. Your opinions are just as unimportant as mine, so we shouldn't be fighting about how much ours differ. Instead, we should be uniting against the _important_ opinions and try our best to take them down.

But at the same time, if the _important_ opinions are down, doesn't that mean that our opinions have surpassed them in importance? Thus making us hypocrites? Do you want to be a hypocrite? I don't think being a hypocrite's that bad. It means that you're constantly keeping a foot in both worlds. It's not at all bad if you live a double life. It just means that you have more experience.

Ah. Speaking of experience. I have experience with stupid people. One shining example would be my grubby oaf of a neighbor, Sadik. If my purpose in life really was to have been a murderer, then my first victim would've been that idiot. Had his idiocy been converted to gold, he would've been swimming in it more than Donald Trump.

That being…does that mean Donald Trump is an idiot? I hope not. He's rich. It's kind of scary, you know, thinking that some of our most successful minds are mentally stunted.

Speaking of mentally stunted…

"Oy, wise girl! Get up your lazy ass, dammit! We've got a freaking project to do!" That's Sadik when he gets all commando.

All hail General Sadik What's-His-Last-Name. He is the new lead of the Turkish Empire- which basically means that the whole thing's going to go down overnight.

I move a bit, trying to rearrange myself into a more comfortable position. The heater, which is turned on with the sole purpose of trying to make us all into human barbecues, emits some kind of buzzing noise that lulls me even more into dreamland. Sweat drips down my neck, and my baggy gray t-shirt, the one with _Cats Shall Take Over The World_ scribbled onto it, is plastered onto my damp back.

This. Is. Sparta- I mean, this is health class. You were probably expecting this to be history class, right? Don't worry- that's what I thought to, before the author told me of a change of plans. She says that I nailed it on the head when I asked her if she just switched it to health class to cause some unholy sexual tension.

Speaking of nailing…something soft nails me on the head.

It's probably an eraser that Sadik chucked at me. He's always throwing stuff at me to wake up.

"And you cared since when?…" I ask in reply.

Sadik's almost never cared about his grades. He assumes that he's a good enough cook to make it big through world-famous cooking shows. Even though his Turkish Delights and Turkish Coffee are to kill for, I don't think that he's too good. My fillet fish is way better. Even though the only ones who'll eat it are my cats.

"I CARED SINCE IT MEANT PISSING YOU OFF! NOW GET UP AND START WORKING!" He yowls at me.

I can picture him right now, with his dark, grizzly face with the white eye-mask. He's probably hiding crowfeet or something. I've never seen the oaf without that thing. But I can't judge. I always wear a white beret. My mother, in a strange act of motherly kindness, slapped down the beret on me before she ran out of the house on that cold day.

I never took it off since. The beret's still on my head, nesting on my messy brown hair. I interpret this beret as a sign that mother will one day come back. Just as soon as she's finished blowing her latest boyfriend's cock, she _will_ come back.

If she doesn't, then that's okay too. I've been living on my own for three years. I can live on my own for at least two or three more years before I could bribe some adult into making a credit card for me. Then I escape.

Escape where? Don't know. Maybe back to my homeland, Greece. Even though I know next to nothing about it. I reckon I could make a living as a busboy or maybe prostitute myself for money. Don't worry. I won't get AIDs. I heard that a bunch of gamers found one of the crucial steps into curing AIDs by looking through the molecular structure of a monkey AIDs virus or something. By the time I find myself in a nunnery, the scientists probably would've found the cure.

If they didn't, then too bad.

The converse of that statement would be: if too bad, then they didn't. The inverse is if they did, then not too bad. The contra positive would be if not too bad, then they did.

Which all just points to how if they don't find the cure, then I am most probably screwed. But wait a minute…I'm already being screwed in the nunnery, so how do I get screwed even more?

Speaking of screwing…

"Dude, we're gonna be screwed if you don't wake up! Argh, you asshole, why don't you ever sleep at night?" Sadik's bellows jerk me back to reality.

I finally stir myself enough to quiet him down. The whole class is probably looking at us or something, wondering why the fugitives from the Middle East are causing another disturbance. Lord knows that this classroom needs another disturbance. There's already the combination of Little Lord Fauntleroy, Mr. Superman, and the cheese-eating-surrender-monkey. The trio makes as much noise as an incoming freight train.

And then there's tomato-face. She's a girl you'd all probably find interesting. She's the type of girl who yells as loudly as Sadik and throws a lot of punches- not that I'm saying that she's capable of taking her own in a fight. Far from the truth, now you think about it. Unless you count Antonio as her strength. Then she's plenty strong.

Speaking of which, it's become some kind of school legend by now, on how Sadik tried to kidnap tomato-face. He said that it was for a prank. But rather than believe that halfwit, I believe in Freud. If Freud really is right, then Sadik has a disturbing and very unrequited crush on a girl who's face has the ability to turn the color of a tomato.

It's obvious that it's unrequited. One look at how much bitching she does to Antonio leaves plenty of clues as to who she wants to have babies with.

Oh. Babies. Ha. What a coincidence. That's our project. Right. That reminds me- I've made a new record. I've been successfully ignoring Sadik for at least twelve minutes. My previous record was nine, when I pretended to be vomiting from the scones that Little Lord Fauntleroy offered me.

"Babies." I say. "What do you need my help for…and it better be just help. I'm not interested in doing the whole thing myself."

Sadik jumps at least ten meters into the air. Ooh, big shock- the pseudo-narcoleptic Hera has finally woken up from her beauty sleep to grace a lowly commoner as himself with a reply.

"As if! I'm probably gonna be the one who does the whole thing! All you'd probably do is sleep. That's all you do, isn't it? Just snoozing with your mangy little fleabags."

"Hey, hey, back off. My kitties are way better than your flea-bitten face."

"Shut up, messy-hair!"

"Messy hair? That's the best a genius such as yourself can come up with?"

"Gah-urgh- whatever. I'll let this go for today 'cuz we really need to work on this damn project! Aw, dang- thirty minutes passed! We wasted time, thanks to you!"

"You're welcome. So what do we need to do? I know it's something about babies. Mhm." I pause for a bit, before continuing, "Maybe we have to find out about the passage of the ovaries?…"

"Ew!" Sadik blasts off. "Only an unhinged pervert like you would think of that! Wait." His dark eyes narrow. "Does this mean…y-you…you don't know either on what we're supposed to do for the project?"

"Bingo. Don't you remember? I was catching up on my sleep."

"Awwwwww, damn! Now we're really screwed! I was counting on you to pay attention for us!"

I blink. Oh. Whoops. Okay. I guess we'll just have to ask the teacher.

"Hey, lice-head," I call to Sadik to catch his attention. "Just ask the teacher."

"W-what? I can't do that! I don't want to!" He replies, simultaneously showcasing his intimate affair with exclamation marks.

"Why not?" I ask.

"Because I don't want to. You do it!" Sadik is now repeatedly poking my head to try and provoke me.

It isn't going to work. I've withstood a stab from a knife when I accidentally made some conversation with that Ivan guy. If I could just keep on talking about the meaning of life with some guy with Russia while there's a knife impaled on my arm, I'm pretty sure I can easily ignore the Turkish dude's finger-pokes of doom.

"Sadik, Hera- aren't we supposed to be working on our project?" A shy, slightly awkward voice makes its way into my ear.

For the first time in my life, I jolt up from my desk and snap my eyes awake. Ah. This is where things go good. Enter my classmate, Kiku Honda.

Short, thin, Asian- not much to say about him. With his customary straight bangs and brown eyes, he looks like the ideal Japanese student.

But I like him. Maybe even love him. But I doubt that my love for him runs too deep. If there's a choice between my life and his, I'd probably choose my own.

Who am I kidding? I'd sacrifice myself in a heartbeat. He is humanity's next great, big thing. With Kiku around, there's going to be more cat-enthusiasts. He promised me. He promised me once that he'll make the world a better place for both cats and humans alike.

That's good enough to make me slightly infatuated with him.

"Oh, Kiku." I smile at him.

Kiku smiles at me back, the edges of his lips curling upwards slightly. He's about to say something with that wonderfully shy voice of his, until an oaf stumbles in with his own hasty words.

"Yo, Kiku! You're in our group! Didn't know that! I'm glad you are, though! I thought I was going to be stuck with this loser here." Sadik bursts into a fit of annoying chuckles.

"You stole the words right out of my mouth. Kiku, I'm sorry for this fool. Maybe we should go to the teacher and tell him to take Sadik out of the group?" I quickly jump in.

Kiku closes his eyes for a second, before he rubs his head. "I'm actually quite glad that we're all in the same group. But we must try and finish this project with as much accuracy and efficiency as we can. It would not do if we fail this."

"Exactly! Just as I was saying to this lame-brain, we need to get started on the project!" Sadik whips around to give me the evil eye.

I shrug. Okay. Besides the lame-brain part, it all sounds good to me. But one problem.

"We would get started on the project…but how do we start? And what is our objective?…I know it's something about babies…but that's all I know."

Kiku replies, "We are to take care of a baby for the next few days, recording and taking notes on it. We do not pass if our baby cries too much." Looks like someone paid attention. _Whew._ Sadik and I are both saved.

Oh. Wait. _That _project. I know about it. It's what they do in every stereotypical high-school based series. But I'm glad I'm in a group with Kiku. He should be able to stop me and Sadik from bickering too much and not torture the baby.

I turn my head to look at Sadik. Wonder how Boy Wonder's faring.

Not so well. For some reason, he's freezed up and his face pales into an unhealthy sheen.

"What's wrong? Scared that Chuckie's out to get you?" I ask.

Sadik doesn't answer. Instead, in a strangled voice, he asks, "Where's. The. Baby?"

Kiku blinks. No emotion flickers across his usually blank face. Then, almost as if he can read Sadik's mind, he gives a very strange reply.

"No. Sadik, I'm afraid that I might have to withhold you from holding the baby. You are still unstable from last time."

Okay. So Sadik has a possibly insane approach towards babies. What else is new? That he's not a pedophile?

But then again, I wonder what's behind this whole thing about Sadik and babies…I probably shouldn't ask Kiku about it. Knowing him, the answer will never be able to be drawn out. So, following Galileo's way of trying out experiments, I do the obvious.

"Then, Kiku, can I hold the baby? I just want to see it…"

"Okay. But please take care in not dropping it."

Soon, a hefty little body, one that's as ugly as sin, is dropped into my arms. I carefully watch Sadik's eyes track my every movement as I pretend to rock the baby around and sing it to sleep. Then, as soon as I see the apprehensive look in Japan's eyes fade away into a calm lull of security, I whack the baby against Sadik's face.

Biggest understatement of the year: Sadik goes ballistic.


	2. It's A

**It's A...**

_Twit. That's what that American idiot is. A twit. A plain, simple-minded twit of a hamburger-obsessed idiot who eats heart attacks for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Nah, just kidding. He eats heart attacks 24/7. The words breakfast, lunch, _and _dinner_ have no meaning for him, due to how he's eating all the time.

Green Day was right. The whole country of America _is_ a faggot that lives for social hype. I miss sweet England already. At least there we can eat some nice gourmet food and drink authentic, beautifully brewed tea.

Earl Grey Tea, how I miss you. I shall never smash a cup filled with you against some idiot's head again.

Not unless the name of the idiot happens to be Alfred F. Jones. The _F_ in his name, that deplorable _F_ that he refuses to tell me what it stands for- it should stand for Fool. Alfred Fool Jones. Has a nice ring to it. Or better yet- Alfred _Fucking Foolish Fop_ Jones. Even better sounding. And it suits him quite well.

I sit quietly on my desk, wondering when this farce called school will end. Everyone knows that you do not amass the skills needed for the big, scary world where everyone will only try and interact you for money or sex. You just learn about trivial stuff, like trigonometry or 18th century literature. And- hold on, this is _just getting good_- you also learn how to take care of a bloody baby!

Wonderful, isn't it? Already in your junior year, they teach you how to take care of a _baby_. I guess the next thing's the school's going to tell us is that we too can be easily famous. All we need to do is constantly have sex without a good old condom. And of course, don't forget the most important thing of all: a pretty face. If you're not of the fair-faced ones, you are simply not fit to be cast in the limelight.

Crooked teeth, freckles, messy sandy blonde hair- I'm okay looking. Will I at least make the B-List if I, say, happen to get raped and produce little Alice Jr.? Fantastic! B-List it is!

No, please do not shy away from my rambling. I am just merely _pissed _that I'm paired with a twit like Alfred.

Do you know what that prat said to me when we were partnered up and given our baby? He wondered if _he was the one who somehow produced the baby._ With an honest-to-Lord scared expression, Alfred believed that he had the necessary organs for reproduction!

Isn't he a bright bulb? Let's give him a hand, folks, shall we? Of course males can make babies! _If they're bloody seahorses._ And I'm pretty sure that the last time I checked, Alfred F. Jones _did not_ posses any fins.

And besides, the baby's a bloody model made out of plastic. If they gave us a real baby, we'd probably murder it for sure. Well, Alfred would. I'd take good care of it and nurture its mind and body to become one of a fine young adult.

"Yo, Alice! Dude, dude, I did it! I did it! Get down on your knees and start praising me, because I. Have. Done. _It._" A loud, hyperactive voice breaks into my mind.

_Oh no. _What has the twit done now?

"You've done it with what? A tree. Didn't know that you were _that_ desperate." I reply.

"Done what with a tree? I was just talking about how I just finished doing the most important thing in the project!"

"What? Successfully murdering the baby by making it see your bloody face? How smashing, my boy. Now we get a F for this class. Bravo."

"Aw, shut up! I'm not _that_ ugly, am I?" Alfred leans his face closer to mine. "Am I? Am I?"

My face turns red a bit. No, don't get the wrong idea! It's just turning red because of this damn heat! It's really not because some moron's shoving his idiotic face into mine!

Without looking like I'm trying to stare at his face, I try to stare at his face. As secretively as I can, I sneak glances of Alfred's broad, smiling face and glowing sky-blue eyes. Some freckles dust his straight nose, making him seem a bit childish. His mussed-up corn-blond hair makes me want to try and smooth it down, to try and force down that one cowlick that just begs me to pat it into place.

"Oho, love's in the air tonight!" An annoying croon brings me to my senses.

I quickly shake my head and shove Alfred's face away. Oh god, I'm such a twit! Me? Falling for a greasy-blooded idiot like him? Of course not! I am someone who enjoys more classy, refined men. And besides, men kind of disgust me. So far, I've seen three types of males in this godforsaken school. The first type's the idiots like Alfred. Second type's the okay ones, the nice ones like Kiku who most probably already have soul mates. The third…is the abominable rapist.

Francis. Bonnefoy. One of the other banes of my life.

"Love? If high-charged rivalries are what you call love, then I offer my condolences to you." I snap at him.

Francis chuckles, as if he knows something that I don't.

"What a sweet girl, feeling all sorry for a lonely soul like me. If you don't want Superman here, how about you settle for a connoisseur like me? I have quite the panache to tame wild women such as yourself."

"Wild? Hah! You're not ready for the jungle yet if you think she's wild! She's as soggy as an old man!" Alfred interjects.

"Soggy? What the hell do you mean by that!" I turn my hatred towards him.

"You're always doing boring stuff like baking atomic bombs, sewing lame stuff like unicorns, and reading old books. You never do anything fun!"

"Never do anything fun? You're just too much of a twit to fully explore the _joy_ of refined culture! And besides, they're called _cookies_ How do you know what's edible if you can't even tell the difference from well-cooked pastries to deadly instruments of mass genocide?"

"Don't make me laugh, sugar." Francis laughs. "Your cookies are as edible as rabbit crap."

I growl in reply, "Rabbit crap is perfect food for a depraved hedonist like you."

I don't take too well when my cooking's insulted. I've been cooking since I was a little girl. When my little brother Peter was born and mom was down with the preggy-flu, I was the one who took charge of the kitchen. I shooed daddy out because I didn't want him to hurt himself while cutting the carrots. Meal after meal, snack after snack, I kept myself busy by feeding my family.

At first, everyone loved my cooking. Well, at least they said they did. I didn't miss the forced smiles nor the sneaky escapes to the toilet. But rather than discourage me, I decided to instead aim for an even better quality of cooking.

I guess I never improved. But so what? I still say that horribly cooked British food is much better than a grease-soaked monstrosity cooked by an _American_.

"Hey, earth to Alice. Earth to Alice! Are you there?" I hear Alfred's voice again. His voice sounds…unnaturally close this time.

"What?" Realizing that I've been looking down, I hastily snap my neck back up. It isn't becoming of a young lady to look down on to her knees while her enemies ruthlessly pick apart her flaws. She must withstand their attacks and fight back!

Unfortunately, the enemy's face happened to be right in front of mine.

"I'll save you from whatever depressed punk British thought you were having- oof! Ugh, tastes like fish and chips!" Alfred suddenly squeals.

His beautiful blue eyes are wide with horror when he realizes what's happening. My own green eyes reflect his terrified confusion as we both find out that we've collided with each other on the face. Our teeth has smashed against each other, drawing blood from both sides. There's a dull thud from when Alfred's head knocked onto mine.

My head burst with beautiful, shiny stars. It especially doesn't help matters when that annoying brat, that creepy twit from Italy with a disturbing love for pasta, accidentally hurtles a cardboard star at my head. The star sticks into my messy hedge of hair.

Sighing, I then slump onto the ground. My head hurts all of a sudden. I wonder why.


	3. Love

I don't get him. I really don't get him. He flirts with me and tries to pull me in, but at the same time he acts like he's just so- argh! He's just so oblivious! So stupid! So frivolous, so lackadaisical! So facetious! Yet…so adorable. S-so innocent. So frail.

I think I might actually be in love- no, wait! I'm not! I'm really not! I take it back! That is unprofessional behavior, a grave mistake on my part! I am still in school, so I must not think such wasteful and useless thoughts as these! I must keep my priorities straight! I cannot afford to go astray, especially at a crucial time like this! How could I be so stupid enough to actually allow my mind to dwell on such ridiculous matters?

I must really be careful the next time I think about him. I mustn't be so foolish. The next time I think about Feliciano Vargas, I must keep myself on guard.

But how can I when I just got paired up with him for a highly awkward project that involves parenting and harmony? I believe that we are both required to act like a single house unit and care for this offspring.

With him, I can just tell that we're doomed. Just looking at the ways he seems to explode with tears at the littlest things, Feliciano's not fit for parenthood.

But even so, I…I kind of don't mind. I'll have to do enough parenting for both of us. I might have to double the workload. But I know that Feliciano's going to keep me company during those tedious hours, so I'll be all right.

Yet…yet I…what if I get tempted? What if I finally reach my snapping point and actually allow myself to get sucked into his meaningless flirting? I've seen half the girls at school get sucked into his little traps, playing along and laughing. Just thinking about that makes me bristle. A nasty, hot, sour kind of feeling bubbles into my gut. I immediately categorize that feeling as an useless feeling and try my best to squash it out.

I don't need jealousy clouding my judgment. It's not as if Feliciano even likes me back anyways. To him, I'll just be that big, scary girl he knew ever since he was a kid. Perhaps if I'm lucky, he'll think of me as that scary, but nice girl who protects him. Maybe he might actually think of me as a friend.

Damn, why am I turning red at the thought? I'm such a weakling. I should learn to toughen up.

Face it- Feliciano will never like me back as more than just a friend. Hell, I don't even know if he even considers me as a friend. I mean, I guess he does- but then again, that lack-wit considers the whole world as his friend. He'd probably even consider the _Nazis_ as friends.

There's this small yearning inside me, one that wishes that I was more than that. It's unfair…Feliciano is one of the only three people I trust and hold to be dear to me. There's a space in my heart reserved just for him, and one of my most important priorities in life is to protect him from all danger at all costs. Yet…if he just considers me as a generic friend…

It's no use. Forget it. I should just stop being stupid and get back to work. Love isn't important at all. Who cares about all that romance garbage? It won't help you get far in life.

Or that's what I at least tell myself.

Feliciano, I…I….I hold great affection for you. But the question is, do you…d-do…do you _l-love-_ I mean, do you hold great affection for me? Do you return my feelings?

That's one question I don't want to know the answer to.


	4. Story

**Story**

**Author's Note:**

**Hi. Bye. **

Tonight, Antonio Hernandez Carriedo is going down. Of course, he was always the type that was supposed to go down- but I'm just speeding up the process. Really, though, I'm doing him a huge favor. He was too retarded to live in this scary dog-eat-dog world. By killing him today, I am saving him from tomorrow.

Not that I'm actually doing this for his good. I'm doing this for _my_ good- got it? I tend to do stuff that benefits only _me._ Or maybe my brother if I'm feeling very generous- which of course, _I _ _always am._ I may not seem like a saint, but I'm much better than that potato-eating bitch he always hangs out with. But then again, he's my _brother_. So it would be very wrong if I said that I was the perfect girl for him.

Ew. Just thinking about incest makes me want to vomit up that awesome tomato I crammed down my mouth. But if I puke up that tomato, what's going to be in my stomach? If my stomach's empty, I'd be hungry! And I can't be hungry! If I'm hungry, I'm gonna be so fucking pissed! I-I-I'll make a hit on Antonio! That's what I'll do! Yeah! That's it! After all, thinking about making a hit on him lead to thoughts about me puking- so really, me getting an empty stomach's all _his_ fault!

But whoa, wait a minute- serious logic fail here. I already _did_ make a hit on him! So how do I make a hit on him again? Dammit, this is too confusing! I'm working too hard. I'm gonna take a three hour break. Yeah, that'll get me ready to kill Antonio. Mhm.

I take a look at the damn plastic baby I threw on my bed. I snort when I realize that I'm actually doing more work than that bastard Antonio. Just like always. Ha. Who said males were more useful than females? If you take a look at me and Antonio, I'm pretty sure you'd change your mind. After all, that damn bastard's useless without me.

Or maybe…horror grips me when I realize that it's actually the other way around- no! I can't think like that! Dammit, break time is over! Now I'm really gonna kill that tomato bastard for making me think unorthodox thoughts!

Throwing on my coat and snatching the baby by its foot, I storm out of my room. During the way, I hear Feliciano ask if I'm going to see Antonio again.

"Shut the hell up! I'll see him when you're not seeing that potato bastard!" I holler at him.

Feliciano pops his head out of his room. His light auburn hair turns all shiny and glossy in the light- which, in turn, makes me fucking jealous. I'm not saying that my hair's ugly- it's actually really pretty! Wavy, dark brown, fluffy- girls would kill to have my hair! I swear, they would! Antonio said so- no wait, dammit, he's my enemy! I can't trust what the enemy says- CHIGI!

Forget it. Just…forget it all, 'kay? You better, or I'm gonna freaking kill _you_.

With a shit-eating smile smeared over his face, my annoying little brother responds, "But I'm not seeing Louise right now! So you _are_ seeing Antonio!

"Look at you! You're being rude to your elder! Dammit, don't give me sass! I've lived on this earth longer than you! I deserve respect!" I shout.

If the baby was real, then its foot would've lost all signs of circulation by now. My hands are to blame.

"Sis, you're scary! If you want respect for that, I'll definitely respect you!"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

"Oh no, you're parodying the four Anime Tsunderes of the world! Please don't! Their high-pitched voices are worse than mine!"

I stop to think about it for a second. Yeah. I'll give Feliciano that one. His voice suggests that he never hit puberty. If there's anything more annoying than his ridiculous squeal of a voice, it's that pink-haired bitch from that Harry Potter-look-a-like anime that keeps on whipping that poor bastard every five seconds.

This is a typical scene from that goddamn horrible show:

Annoying Pink Haired Bitch: I have a flat chest!

Poor Bastard from Japan: I agree.

Annoying Pink Haired Bitch: (takes out a whip) SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP! (flays the skin off the Poor Bastard from Japan)

Poor Bastard from Japan: OWWW, what the hell did I do?

Annoying Pink Haired Bitch: Nothing, really. I just have to prove to the viewers that I'm a strong female character by abusing you every time you say something remotely offensive. Everyone knows that a true woman is ridiculously aggressive! And also, this is a sign that I'm obviously in love with you. No romance is interesting without a feisty heroine. So, anyways, where were we?

Poor Bastard from Japan: Ummm, you were just whipping the shit out of me. You're kidding, right? You're not really going to-

Annoying Pink Haired Bitch: DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!

That is literally what happens every episode. Not that I don't do the same…ah, whatever. I have justified reasons.

**Lovina Vargas's Proof of Why She's Allowed to Beat Antonio Up:**

**Given: **Antonio is stupid, Antonio is creepy, and Antonio used to beat me up when I was a kid.

**Prove: **I'm allowed to beat Antonio up.

**Statement One: **Antonio is stupid, Antonio is creepy. **Reason One: **Given.

**Statement Two:** Stupid people get killed easily anyways. **Reason Two: **The Slapstick Theorem.

**Statement Three: **Antonio will die anyways. **Reason Three: **The Definition of a Human.

**Statement Four: **Antonio is a pedophile. **Reason Four: **Why You Shouldn't Hang Around Little Kids So Much Postulate.

**Statement Five: **Antonio used to beat me up when I was a kid. **Reason Five: **Given

**Statement Six: **In order to beat me up, he has to have spent time with me. **Reason Six: **The Obvious Property of Common Sense.

**Statement Seven: **I'm allowed to beat Antonio up. **Reason Seven: **The Definition of Being Too Lazy to Finish Proofs.

And that is why.

I ignore Feliciano as I quickly walk out of the house and trudge towards Antonio's. On the way, I see Hera Karpusi taking a nap on the sidewalk. A coat's thrown over her as a makeshift blanket. About half her face is wrapped up in bloodied bandages. What the hell happened to her?

"Hey, Sleeping Ugly! What happened to you?" I call out.

Something moves from next to her. What I previously thought was a pile of blankets turned out to be that Asian kid, Kiku Honda. Ooh, this should be good.

"Excuse me, Lovina, for any inconveniences. Hera said that this was a good place to nap."

"Good place to nap? You're kidding me, right? It's a great place to get robbed! Sleeping out in the open- what are you? Crazy?"

"If you want to shout, fine by me. But just tone it down please…I was having a beautiful dream about cats." Hera's voice floats out. She rolls over a little, reaching for Kiku's hand.

Kiku turns red for a bit. He looks embarrassed. This probably goes against some Japanese etiquette thing. Damn, I am _so_ tempted to ask him if he goes by the _bushido_ or something. Or better yet…

"Hey, Kiku, you own a wazikashi or a sai sword?" I ask. Hahaha! That was so witty!

Kiku stares at me like I'm stupid- _which I most definitely am not. _Then he replies in a calm, even voice.

"I'm afraid that wazikashis are better for dual wielding, which I unfortunately don't do. Dual wielding is rather useless, despite how American movies make it out to be. And I do not use sai swords. If this is supposed to be a crack about Japanese samurais, then you did your research wrong. Sai swords are formerly tools used for plowing. Only peasants and farmers use them as improvisational weapons." He paused for a bit. There's a slight gleam in his usually emotionless eyes.

"Katanas are much better. They are the signature weapon, the ultimate weapon to have. Have you not watched enough American movies about the way of the samurai?"

Damn. I just got owned. My face slowly gets red, much to my chagrin. With a huff, I ignore the damn bastards and resume my rampage to Antonio's house.

By the time I reach the fucking green door, I'm ready to rip apart everything. My hands bang on the door in an attempt to break it open. After the second try, however, I quickly retreat. My hands sting with pain.

"Hey! Bastard! Open up already!" I holler. Dammit, that stupid, insensitive bastard! Doesn't he know better than to keep a girl waiting?

The door swings open. The enemy is approaching. I resume a fighting stance to fend him off.

A mess of brown hair. Shining eyes the color of dewy grass. Tanned skin. Rock-hard muscles. A grin that threatens to cancel out the rest of his face.

Oho. That's the enemy. I'm going to take the bastard down!

"YAARGH!" I charge at him.

Sadly, though, I'm knocked down by Antonio's special move: The Glomp. It's a one-hit KO. Already, in two seconds, the bastard manages to hold me in some kind of swastika grip, finished off by trying to squeeze me to death.

"Let. Go." I slowly grind out between clenched teeth.

"And watch you pathetically trying to kill me? Ah, nuh-uh." He responds. He accompanies the reply with laughter.

"And you brought our love-child with you? Goodness, Lovi, you wanna get together that bad? We're still in high school, you know. You should get into a college first, before you come running to me."

Damn. Damndamndamn. Damn. Stupid bastard. He has the nerve to joke around while pinning down his would-be assassin? As soon as I'm free, I am so taking him down.


	5. Say

**Author's Note:**

**um…i tried i rlly did!1! to tell the truth this thing rlly has nooo plot. i mean it used to but now it doesnt!11! I suppse i just wantd to see wat wuld hppen if greace was a gurl! R nd R and no flamrs cuz flaming an't kewl! KTHXBAI!**

Fourscore and seven years ago, back when our forefathers claimed that they have put down the foundations and formula for a free country, there was probably a small, inquisitive child who innocently wondered about the founding _mothers_ of the colony. As she pondered about the credit owed to the distaff counterpart, she also happened to see her mother and father try to break each other's skulls with a mug of coffee. And thus she realized that it was probably a good thing that there were no mothers.

And so on. That scenario comes to mind as Sadik's hands are now wrapped tightly around my neck, trying their upmost best to choke off my supply of air. But that's okay. After all, I did stab him in the eye with a recently sharpened pencil.

Or that's what I did right now.

Blood spurts out of Sadik's eye, causing him to screech with pain. For a second, I wonder if I am to be punished for my sins on Judgment Day. Then I realize that I am not Christian. And so I concentrate on stabilizing him instead.

Even though Sadik Is now half-blinded, he still has enough presence of mind to lurch over to Natalya, our resident incestuous psychopath. He snatches the knife hanging out of her coat pocket. Natalya glares and moves to kick him directly in the crotch, but Sadik stabs her arm with the knife. Natalya's icy-blue glare turns even frostier; she somehow manages to ignore the pain in her arm and whips out a cleaver. With a dark expression set on her face, she slashes his torso with the blade.

Kiku and I watch the spectacle, both us mirroring each other's calm, stony faces. Even though Sadik's can barely spell his own last name, he's still a pretty good fighter. He takes advantage of Natalya's gender and punches her chest. Natalya buckles a bit, but she manages to keep her footing. Snarling a little, she lashes out with the cleaver. Unfortunately for her, Sadik sees it coming and blocks it half-way with his stolen knife. The blades of the two kitchen utensils clash, causing sparks to fly out.

Kiku sighs and walks over to the pair.

"Please, let us not fight. We're in school right now, not in some arena where twenty-four children are selected to fight to the death."

Sadik, however, does not agree with him like he usually does. Instead, he turns on Kiku and swings the blade of the knife onto his face. I emit a little squeak. I- I can't let him get stabbed! No!

I'm about to lunge at Sadik, that stupid oaf, but then I hold myself back at the last minute when I see the knife shatter to pieces. I look at Kiku and see the chopsticks in his hands. On his normally expressionless face is a slight, tense smile.

Whoa. Chopstick Power. Only accessible if you're Asian.

Sadik growls and punches Kiku. Kiku deflects the fist with his chopsticks. Natalya, taking advantage of Sadik's stupidity, reaches over and plants her cleaver in Sadik's chest. Or, she would've, but I intervene. I can't have my next-door neighbor and childhood enemy be killed. Who else would I verbally abuse?

I grab two pencils from my pencil case and pretend to hurl them at her. Natalya ducks, giving me enough time to dash over and leap on to her back. Ivan, when he sees me assaulting his sister, decides that he finally returns her love. On any other day, he would've just sighed in relief and ran. But now, since he's decided that Natalya's actually kind of hot, he goes to her aid.

_Oof._ My back's beaten down with some kind of water faucet. With a slight, childish upturn of the lips and a blush covering his strong cheekbones, Ivan takes out his infamous water pipe of doom- and proceeds to beat me up with it.

Me, being the smart girl I am, quickly roll off of Natalya's back and scamper behind Ivan. Ivan keeps on swinging down his pipe, until he quickly figures out that it's his sister that he's flogging.

I'm about to pinch the back of his neck, to make him go down, but then I'm knocked out of the way. Superman, in a rush to save the day, has run over me and left me moaning on the floor. My hands instinctively reach out to grab his foot, to trip him, but then I realize that I have more important things to do.

Like, say, stop the fighting. Somehow stabilize Sadik. Make sure that the teacher doesn't come back for a long, long time.

But then again, I'm figuring that Little Lord Fauntleroy probably got on the case. Here's the good thing about the class president being a rather violent delinquent- she doesn't say no to a good fight. If anything, she'll probably feed the teacher some story about a giant moussaka coming to life from some magic spell done wrong and stomping through the classroom to beat everyone up. Then Superman will interrupt her to say that he personally saved the day by eating the giant moussaka.

I carefully inch myself off the floor. The floor's now slippery with red stuff that I refuse to name. I lick some off my hands. Once again, there is no fear of HIV. Even if there is, it's okay. All HIV will do to me is possibly alienate me from society, maybe cause me to develop a high fever, and perhaps kill me in two years. However, there is a good thing about gaining that disease. I have the right to quip "I'm positive. HIV positive."

Just like Eric Cartman. Wouldn't that be nice, emulating a ten-year old Satanist with- _ugh._ Something smashes into my head. It's an iron pan.

Iron pan. Huh. I wonder who regularly employs this as a weapon. Speaking of iron pans, have you ever wondered about the morality of human beings? I believe that human morality does not exist, as seeing that there is a show called Hell's Kitchen. Hell's Kitchen is strange and brutal. It's like Big Brother is Watching You, except with cooking. We inhumanely employ the distraught feelings and distress of master chefs as a way of entertainment.

But who am I to speak of human morality? Perhaps there is no such thing as a moral code. Or perhaps there is. But every human does not adhere to one same moral code. There are different variations, different interpretations, all of those that not every being agrees with. For example: sex. I think sex is a very moral thing to do. Kiku, however, refuses to put out due to it being a very immoral thing to do in your youth.

Ah. Speaking of youth. I believe that the intelligence is wasted on the youth of this high school. For one, why is there no teacher noticing the commotion in this class- oh, wait. In front of me is the severed head of our health teacher. His milky white eyes drip brown goo, and pink strings hang out of the giant hole on the bottom of his head. You know, that place where his neck should've been.

Judging from the clean, precise way his head was cut, I say that it was Tina who did it. Tina's that seemingly average kid who came from Finland a long, long time ago. I suppose she is nice. Or relatively nice. I mean, my interpretation of nice and your interpretation of nice could differ. So, relative to the humane (an adjective like inhumane does not exist, as seeing that the cruel actions it describes is actually being done now by _humans_- thus causing humane to become the better word) bastards in this classroom, all of whom are now trying to kill each other, I'd say Tina is a nice girl. Although she has a dog. And dogs traditionally go against cats.

Dogs. Scythes. Dogs are like scythes. Do you want to know why? Unfortunately, I don't- although I do see a weird scythe thing Tina's holding. She's holding it straight out in front of her, with a big, crazy grin scrawled all over her face. Behind her, holding a huge yatagan (which, strangely, is from _Africa_), is Berwald.

Berwald's quiet, stony-faced, and scary. Not scary, as in Natalya-esque incestuous-psycho-scary. It's more like he spreads out this quietly threatening aura. I remember how he used to beat us all up in second grade. Proudly proclaiming himself as a Viking, he set out to conquer us all. Tina, Danny, and Norge joined him occasionally. Most of the time, they left me alone to quietly nap with my cats under the tree. After all, they had Superman to beat up.

When Superman was five, he was adorable. Little Lord Fauntleroy used to dote on him every time, pinching his cheeks, baking him cookies, and carving him his own set of nutcrackers. But then, one day, while I was busy making fun of Sadik for getting beaten up by Feliciano, I heard them shouting at each other. Fighting. Both of them had bruises coloring their faces.

For a moment, I wondered if that was what happened between my mother and my biological father. Then I wondered if I was ever the reason for such violence.

Of course, me being ten at the time, that thought was quickly replaced by the next volley of insults I was prepared to fling at Sadik.

Huh. I just digressed, didn't I? Speaking of Sadik, right now he's being taped to the floor by Kiku and Louise. Louise is big, strong, and blonde. That's all you've got to know about her. She would've gone for class president if she wasn't so shy. When Feliciano offered to be her campaign manager, Louise seemed like she was going to give in- until her older brother, Gilbert, stepped in and cracked up at the very thought. After that, Louise didn't mention it again.

One time, while I was walking my kitties down to the park, I saw Louise training with Gilbert. They were both practicing their swordsmanship. Although Louise was a hurricane of blades, Gilbert was a complete twister. They jabbed each other left and right, up and down, back and front- until Louise slipped and left an opening. Gilbert kicked the back of her knees and forced her down. The tip of his sword lightly traced her throat. Louise had lost.

But even so, I saw some kind of spark lighting up her normally stressed eyes. Louise was so beautiful at that moment. Her body lit up with passion and her face was so flushed with excitement. It was only a minute, though. By the time Feliciano came tramping down the forest, excitedly hauling a pot of boiling hot pasta behind him, Louise had calmed down.

"Hera!"

I hear someone shouting my name. I shake myself out of my reverie and slowly peel myself off the floor. I grab my hat off the floor and quickly shove it back down on my head. I rub my eyes and start scanning the situation in the classroom.

Has everyone stopped fighting? Or is the classroom still a storm of chaos?

Tomato-face. That's the first person I see. She's standing in front of a slumped-over Antonio. There's rips all over her face, and her fists are smeared red. She's breathing heavily, while her legs are threatening to give out. Beside her is the cheese-eating-surrender-monkey. There's a visible crack across his face. Proudly stepping a foot on him is Elizabeth, a beautiful girl who almost half the class considers as a mother figure. Thrusting an iron pan high above her head, her face is plastered with a tight smile while her whole body's convulsing with sobs. Her long honey-brown hair is streaked with blood.

Crouched down behind her is the class's resident faux-aristocrat. I shall call him FA.

I believe that FA used to be in a masochistic relationship with Gilbert, until Elizabeth decided to beat them both up. But when it got out that Elizabeth was a huge fan of seeing gay porn and everyone started ignoring her because they thought she was creepy, FA made friends with her. And then Elizabeth fell in love with FA, thus causing her to challenge Gilbert into a duel for FA's heart. Gilbert nearly sliced her head off with his broadsword. Luckily, Elizabeth's five-year long experience with PAN-FU and baritsu enabled her to beat the stuffing out of Gilbert.

And so on.

My eyes scan over the rest of the room. I pick out a dark face and two puffy brown pigtails peeking out from behind an overturned desk. That will be Seychelles, an African islander girl who goes by her nickname. Nobody knows her real name. Just when Seychelles is about to tip-toe out, a gunshot cracks through the air. It comes from the direction of a tall, lean boy with chin-length blond hair. He's toting a .44 Beretta. He is obviously the one who shot the bullet, as seeing that there is smoke trailing out of the muzzle of his gun. Next to the boy is a rather short girl who has the exact same hairstyle as him.

Those are the Zwingli siblings. Or, to be more specific, the un-blood-related Zwingli siblings. The boy's Vash, a rather scary jerkass who has a future as Mr. Monty Burn's protégé. The girl's Lilli. She's as sweet and adorable as one of Little Lord Fauntleroy's bunnies. I heard that her parents abandoned her in a dark alleyway. It was lucky that Vash found her when he did, because the alleyway was in a red-light-district.

Imagine if Lilli was abducted by a pimp. I mean, she'd get a good price because of how young she is and how innocent she looks.

I don't think Lilli's innocent at all. She's sweet. She takes care of her brother so much, and she always makes him apologize whenever he bullies someone. I think Lilli loves Vash. I don't know if it's sisterly or romantically. And I do not care. But Lilli loves him. That's as far as I want to go.

Love is the key word here. Once you know what it feels like to truly love someone, there is no coming back. It doesn't matter who or what the love is directed at. The feeling of loving someone is the catalyst for the breakdown of your innocence.

We humans may be bastards. And love may actually be a part of why we're bastards. But there's a reason why a bastard is cynical and not considered innocent anymore. It's because that bastard most probably loved someone or something at least once in his or her lifetime.

So, ladies and gentlemen, Lilli Zwingli has the huge potential to be a bastard. And it's because she has love.

Huh. Speaking of loves. I see Kiku kneeled down on the floor, and I hurry and rush over to him. Sadik is sprawled on the floor, and his chest heaves with pain and exhaustion. For a second, I feel almost sorry for spearing Sadik's eye with that pencil. Perhaps that was unnecessary. No, it was actually _very_ unnecessary. Even though my actions were of self-defense, it still doesn't excuse the fact that I have committed irreparable damage to someone who I have known for fourteen years.

"Kiku…" I start, not knowing how to apologize. It is because of me that the whole melee started. It is I who should take the consequences. But how must I start?

Kiku looks at me with cloudy, unreadable eyes. His mouth is set in a small, knifelike line. I wonder if he hates me now.

"I…shouldn't…have hit him with the baby…" I say.

"What the hell are you talking about?" A question erupts from Little Lord Fauntleroy. "What baby did you-oh…" her voice trails off when Kiku points down at Sadik and the headless plastic baby next to him.

Tina creeps up behind us, hand merrily swinging her scythe. She's whistling a jaunty little tune- until she sees the headless baby. A pale hand goes up to her pale face, and she screams.

"Oh my Moomins! W-what did I do?" Tina fingers the edge of her scythe. Her violet eyes are wide with the realization of what she did.

"Oh, come off it. It was just a silly project. The more important thing we should worry about is the teacher. I suppose you don't know what happened to him, do you?" Little Lord Fauntleroy asks with a bit of irony in her voice. It's obvious that she knows what happened. She just wants to confirm it, to horrify us a bit more with our delinquency.

I reply, "Huh. Last time I saw him…or rather, the last time I saw his head…I think it rolled…out of the door."

There's some silence as we all contemplate this. Louise rubs her temples and closes her eyes. Then she opens them and trains them on Feliciano. For some very strange reason, Feliciano is wielding a crossbow. He has it aimed on Sadik's chest, in case he wakes up and tries to choke someone.

"Ve, why did he go crazy in the first place anyway?" Feliciano asks.

"C-cuz…" A thin, broken voice speaks up. We all swivel our heads until we find the source. It's Antonio. He's propped up against an overturned table, and Tomato-Face is now rubbing the blood off his face with a damp bandana.

"Dammit, shut up! You're gonna hurt yourself even more!" Tomato-Face hisses, throwing a murderous glare at him.

Antonio gives a slight smile. He's amused. "You already hurt my heart with your constant- ow!" Tomato-Fa shoves him over. "Okay, okay- mercy! But Kiku…I overheard you guys…Sadik went crazy from contact with a baby?"

Kiku nods. "Yes. But then Hera whacked him with it. On the face."

A hush falls on the room. Finally, after mumbling darkly and shooting me glares, Little Lord Fauntleroy speaks up.

"You twit! Why the hell did you whack him with a bloody baby? Do you have any idea what could've happened? Or better yet, did you even know what was actually going to happen?"

I shrug. "I was curious…"

Louise raises an eyebrow. "Curiosity killed the cat."

"Because recklessness framed it…I don't know why he went insane…there's a secret backstory to this, isn't there?..."

Feliciano's face suddenly brightens. He drops the crossbow, making it clatter against the floor. He runs over to Louise and grabs her arm.

"Kiku, Kiku, are you going to tell us a story? Please, please, please! Tell us!" His amber eyes dance brightly.

I shrug and decide to sit down. I turn to stare at Kiku. Silently, I plead him to tell us of the story of why Sadik now goes insane from babies. Others follow my lead. Little Lord Fauntleroy sits down, tugging Superman next to her. Superman doesn't really complain much, due to there being a gaping hole in his stomach. Elizabeth sits down next to Tomato-Face, lying down and resting her head on FA's lap. Vash, after a suspicious look at Seychelles, nods his head at Lilli. They both quickly settle on the floor, tugging each other closer for comfort.

Kiku, meanwhile, nods. And then starts the story of why babies freak Sadik out so much.


End file.
